The 9 to 5 Caper
by MaverickLover2
Summary: When the largest paper manufacturer in the state comes to Bailey and Spencer with a problem, they sit up and listen. Somehow the company is losing money, and they need to find out how . . . fast.
1. Chapter 1

The 9 to 5 Caper

Chapter 1

"Stu, there's a Mr. Gerald East here to see you."

That's the way they usually started, with an intercom call from Suzanne. It was a Tuesday morning, so none of the Monday crazies were out. And it wasn't a full moon; Stu had checked the calendar that very morning. It seemed like all they had gotten recently were the odd and disturbing cases, and he hoped that trend was over. Oh well, better find out what this one's about. "Send him in, Suzanne."

Of course, Jeff had just gone over to Dino's for coffee. It was a slow morning and a cup sounded good. It was Jeff's turn to buy; that's how he'd escaped Mr. Gerald East, whoever that was. And then Stuart put his first-rate head to work and pulled something out of it. Gerald East, owner of Eastmill Paper Company, the largest paper manufacturer in the state. In the entire western region, as a matter of fact. They supplied paper to the States of California, Nevada and Oregon, and the provinces of British Columbia, Alberta, and Manitoba if he remembered correctly. What would a paper manufacturer want with a PI firm?

"Mr. Bailey, I'm Gerald East. I assume you know of Eastmill Paper Company." The men shook hands.

"Please, have a seat Mr. East. The largest paper supplier in the western region? Certainly I've heard of your company. What can Bailey and Spencer do for you?"

"Mr. Bailey, what would you say if I told you the company was losing money?"

"Stu, please. I'd ask you how?"

"Stu, I'd tell you I don't know. And I'm Jerry."

Just about then Jeff returned with coffee. Suzanne turned hers down, telling Jeff, "Give it to Stu's visitor."

Jeff went into Stu's office, handed him his coffee, and offered the extra to Jerry East. Whom Stu then introduced. "Jerry, this is the other half of Bailey and Spencer, Jeff Spencer. Jeff, this is Jerry East of - "

"Eastmill Paper Company," Jeff finished for him. "How do you do, Mr. East."

"Jerry, please. May I call you Jeff? I'm happy to meet the other half of the firm. And thank you for the coffee."

"Jeff would be fine."

Spencer started for his office but Stu stopped him. "I think you better sit in on this, Jeff." Once Jeff had taken a chair, Stu continued. "Jerry was just telling me that Eastmill Paper Company is losing money."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously, I'm afraid."

"Do you know why?" Jeff asked.

"That's the problem. I thought everything was fine until my accounting manager came and told what the latest balance sheet showed. It isn't a pretty picture, gentlemen."

"So what would you have us do, Jerry?" This time Stu asked the question.

"Find out where the money or the product is going. We don't have much time, I'm afraid."

Both men tried not to laugh. How many times had they heard there wasn't much time?

Jerry East continued. "I have a silent partner, my Uncle Reginald. He's coming to visit in a month. Things have got to be resolved before he arrives or there will be no more Eastmill Paper."

"Given the time frame, it sounds like you need both of us . . . one to examine the books, the other to examine the product shipments. You realize that's two-hundred dollars a day, plus expenses?"

East pulled out his wallet and removed a check. It was made out to Bailey and Spencer, in the amount of five-thousand dollars. "Is that enough to get you started?" The check was drawn on Jerry East's personal account.

Stu smiled as he picked up the check. "More than enough. Let us put together a plan of action and we'll get back to you. Today."

"Good. Here's my private number. No one answers this but me. I need to keep this as quiet as possible." Jerry East stood up.

"We'll do our very best, Jerry," Stu answered as he also stood and shook East's hand.

"Nice to have met you, Jerry," Jeff offered with his handshake.

Both men sat down after their newest client left. "Well, good thing we weren't busy."

Jeff laughed. "I thought you said we'd had more than our share of cray cases and we wouldn't get any more for a while."

Stu laughed with him. "I did, didn't I?" After they'd both had some coffee, Stu asked, "What do you think?"

"I've got some ideas, but let's both think about this until lunch. Then we can decide what to do, and who does it."

"That works for me."

The morning passed quickly, with phone calls and an attempt to clean up any outstanding paperwork that needed completion. Before Jeff knew it, Stu was standing at his office door. "How about lunch? It's almost one o'clock."

"Sure." Jeff put on his jacket, and they left for Dino's. They went to the very back booth, where they did all of their strategizing, celebrating and moping. Harry, the bartender, saw them and raised a glass. Jeff nodded ascent, and as soon as the vodka gimlets were ready Joe brought them over to the table. "To our newest client," Stu proposed. "Now, let's hear your idea."

"Well, let's face it, what he needs is an auditor of some kind and a warehouseman. I propose that you be the auditor and I'll go to the shipping department and throw boxes around. You can wear those glasses like you did when you played the psychiatrist, and I can stop working out."

"You just want to quit going to the gym. I think it's a good idea, I'll call Jerry and ask him when the state came in to audit his books last. And they always need somebody in shipping. Of course, you might be too tired to go out at night."

"Uh-uh, I'll manage. So if East can get us in there tomorrow, we can get started." Jeff was eager for this one, for some reason. Stu wasn't about to disappoint him.

"I'll call him when we get back to the office."

Lunch was delicious, as it always was, and Stu called Jerry East when they returned. There was good news on both counts . . . there hadn't been a state audit in almost fifteen months, and the warehouse was short a man. Jerry agreed to inform the accounting manager of Stu's imminent arrival and recommended Jeff to the warehouse manager.

"Well, partner, looks like we're employed again. You're sure this won't cut into your love life? I'd hate to see all the young ladies left with just me to go out with."

Jeff laughed that happy, hopeful laugh he had. "Don't worry, my love life won't suffer a bit."

"That I'm sure of."


	2. Chapter 2

The 9 to 5 Caper

Chapter 2

They took separate cars to the Eastmill plant, which was located in Glendale. Jeff drove in early, to avoid the traffic. Stu drove in late, to avoid the traffic. It didn't work for either man.

Jeff was hired and put to work right away. When his answer to the question "Do you know how to drive a forklift?" was "Yes," he was given one and told what pallets of paper to move where. He spent the morning working at that task and then was sent to lunch when the food truck arrived. It wasn't like lunch at Dino's, but it was food, which was surprisingly good. He was starving and sat with three of the other warehousemen while he ate.

Stuart was introduced as 'Mr. Benson' from the state of California. According to Jerry East, Mr. Benson was there to perform an audit. East gave his accounting manager, Will Cervantes, a list of Mr. Benson's requirements and situated Stuart in a small conference room, where he could conduct the audit without being bothered by noise from other office workers. Stu spent the morning looking at the firm's general ledger, and Jerry East took the 'auditor' to lunch at The Longhorn Restaurant. "How's it going?" Jerry asked the PI.

"It's taken me a bit to remember how to read a general ledger, but so far everything looks normal," Stu explained while removing the glasses he was wearing, used to help perpetuate the guise of an auditor. He'd worn a black suit to assist with the illusion, and Jerry declared how 'frightening' he looked.

"Just like an auditor," East remarked when Bailey arrived with his briefcase.

"As long as everybody else thinks the same thing," Stu replied.

"I think we're going to have to let Will into who you really are and why you're here."

Stu nodded. "I agree. I think it's just a question of whether we do it now or wait a while."

Jerry remained quiet for a few minutes as if he was contemplating something. Finally, he spoke. "Will has been with Eastmill quite a while. I've always trusted him, but now I wonder if even Will could be part of what's going on."

"He's the one that alerted you to the company losses, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is. I suppose if I had to trust one person it would be Will Cervantes. He's never given me any reason not to but – right now I seem to be suspicious of everyone."

"That's understandable, Jerry, but you have to trust someone. Let's have a meeting with Will this afternoon. We'll see what he has to say when you explain my presence to him," Stu advised him.

"Alright, two o'clock in my office."

By two o'clock Jeff was just about worn out. He'd loaded pallets with boxes of paper; moved pallets with a forklift; and loaded a truck with more boxes of paper. He was used to doing a lot of things, but manual labor wasn't one of them. He took his afternoon break, grabbed a bottle of Coke out of the machine, and sat with the guys he'd eaten lunch with – Jim Dial, Rudy Singer and Fred Booth. They talked about nothing important other than their daily lives. Finally Jeff asked where the truck they were loading was going.

"Vancouver, if it makes it there," Rudy said with a laugh.

"It'll make it," Jim answered back.

"You say that about every truck we send out," Fred volunteered. "and some of them don't get where we send 'em."

"What happens to them?" Jeff asked innocently.

"Um, he's kidding," Rudy answered hurriedly. "He's kidding."

Jeff finally excused himself and went to the washroom. Rudy and Jim just about jumped on Fred. "You ought to know better than to run your mouth around a new employee. What if he's a plant? And we get accused of shorting the trucks?"

"And even if he's not a plant, you shouldn't be talking about what does or does not go on around here," Jim added.

"Especially since we aren't sure what's going on," Rudy finished.

"Alright, alright, I got it. I just spoke without thinking. The kid seems okay," Fred responded. "I'll keep my mouth shut. Breaks over anyway."

Jeff had gone back to loading the truck. He smiled when his three pals returned to work but said nothing. Just to break the tension he started whistling. He had quite a bit to tell Stu after his first day. If the work didn't kill him before quitting time.

Stu showed up in Jerry's office promptly at two o'clock; Will Cervantes was five minutes late. "Sit down, Will," Jerry instructed, and Stu could feel the anxiety emanating from Will.

"Did I . . . did I make a mistake, Mr. East?" Will asked nervously. Will was a perfectionist and he feared and dreaded errors.

"No, Will, nothing of the sort. In fact, you may have saved the company."

"Me?" he almost squeaked.

"Will, I'd like you to meet Stu Bailey. He owns Bailey and Spencer, Private Investigators. Or at least half of it. He's here to see if he can find anything in the books that doesn't look right, or doesn't compare to the manifest for the shipments. We kept you in the dark just until we could get him set up in the conference room. That information is not to leave this room."

"Hi, Will," Stu said as the men shook hands. "Nothing like meeting the same person for the second time with a different name and occupation."

"I'm glad you're here, Mr. Bailey. This unexplained loss has been driving me crazy. Could I ask a favor? Would you put your glasses back on?" Stu accommodated the man, and Will Cervantes nodded his head and smiled. "Yes, sir, you look like every auditor I've ever seen."

"At least now you'll understand why I ask for some things an auditor would never want. And it allowed you to put me by myself in the conference room. Now all I have to do is find out where the paper or the money, or both, are going. How big was the third-quarter loss that Eastmill suffered?"

"Almost one-hundred thousand dollars, Mr. Bailey."

"Please call me Stu. Of course, out in the office it's Mr. Benson." Stu put the glasses back on and scowled. Jerry and Will both laughed. "I'm glad I could infuse the meeting with some levity. Unfortunately, a one-hundred thousand dollar loss is nothing to laugh at. But I understand the situation and the urgency and I'll do my best to discover what's causing the loss."

"Alright, Stu, when you need something just use that phone that's on your desk in the conference room. My extension is 325. I'll get whatever it is, and that way the staff will be none the wiser."

"Thanks, Will. The auditor has to get back to work, I'm afraid. What time does your staff go home, Jerry?"

"The office staff goes home at five o'clock. The warehousemen leave at three-thirty."

"Alright, I'll leave just a bit after the office staff. If I don't see either of you again tonight, I'll be here first thing in the morning."

They shook hands and Stu went back to his office of sorts and thought to himself, _'I bet Jeff's already at home taking a nap.'_

And, to be honest, that's just what Jeff was doing.


	3. Chapter 3

The 9 to 5 Caper

Chapter 3

Stu and Jeff met at Dino's at seven o'clock. They both had dates at 8 o'clock and the girls, Marlena and Cathy, were going to meet them there. When Stu walked in Harry asked him, "Vodka Gimlet or Scotch?"

"Two Gimlets," Jeff answered as he walked in right behind his partner. "That alright with you?" He asked, and Stu nodded assent.

"You're too chipper for having worked in the warehouse all day. How long a nap did you take?"

"How do you know I took a nap?" Was Jeff's comeback question.

"Because you got off at three-thirty. That's how."

"Alright, I did, but it was only two hours." They slid into their favorite booth and waited to talk until the drinks had been served. Then Jeff continued. "You go first."

"Nothing much to tell after one day. I looked over the general ledger and everything seems to be in order. They lost almost one-hundred thousand dollars at the end of the third quarter. Oh, and Jerry and I talked to Will Cervantes and told him who I really was and why I was there. He seemed relieved. That's about all for me. It's going to take me a while to reconcile the income to the billing and shipments. This isn't going to be fast, I'm afraid. What about you?"

There was that happy, hopeful smile again. "I just might brighten your day. There's four men to a crew. You eat lunch and take breaks at the same time, all four of you. My other 'crew-mates' are Jim, Rudy and Fred. They got to talking at lunch and Fred let it slip that shipments don't always end up where they're supposed to. The one we loaded today is going to Vancouver. The shipment number is 17523. There's one for you to track, and I'll let you know when we get confirmation that it's been received. And how many boxes were received. I can keep track of whatever we load and ship out, and you can follow it the rest of the way. How's that for a first day's work?"

Stu smiled. "I almost forgive you for the nap. The girls know we're just meeting them here for drinks and to listen to music, right? Let's get dinner ordered and out of the way."

"Sure. Joe, Joe." Jeff waived the waiter over.

"You ready to order, Mr. Spencer?"

"You read my mind, Joe. Bring me the New York Strip, medium-rare, with a baked potato and a dinner roll. And another Gimlet."

"And for you, Mr. Bailey?"

"I'll have the chef's salad, with Italian dressing on the side, and a lemon wedge. And another Gimlet for me, too."

"Is that all you're going to eat?" Jeff would starve to death on that, no matter how big the salad was.

"I had a steak for lunch, so I'm more than happy with a salad. Besides, you know how big Dino's salads are."

"You have a point. So, how do we proceed from here?"

"With your plan. You send me the shipment numbers and all the pertinent data and I'll cross-check it with what they're invoiced for. Good work, by the way."

They were almost finished with their second drink when dinner came. It didn't take long for either of them to finish their dinner, and before they knew it Marlena and Cathy had arrived. It was a pleasant evening, with good drinks, excellent music and beautiful women. Midnight came too soon. Like it or not, they all had to be someplace in the morning. Stu and Jeff walked the women to their car and after several goodbye kisses, they were left standing alone in the parking lot.

"Jefferson, I think it's time to say goodnight."

Jeff nodded. He thought about all the times he agreed with his partner, and he was sorry this was one of them. "I should have gone hours ago. Either that or I should just sleep in my car."

"Too tired to drive?"

"No, seven o'clock is too early for any human to go to work, much less me."

Stuart laughed, they said goodnight, and both headed for home.

XXXXXXXX

Jeff rolled over, shut off the alarm clock, and moaned. He glared at the clock, which read 'six o'clock,' and thought that no reasonable human being should be awake at this time of day. He put the coffee pot on while he took a shower. Maybe that would wake him up.

It certainly helped, he thought as he dried off. He thought of Stu, still asleep in his cozy, warm bed, and almost called, just to wake him up. He found himself heading for the phone and redirected his path to the kitchen. Taking the biggest cup he could find from the cabinet, he poured a cup of coffee. Hot or not, he took a sip, then another, and went back to his bedroom to get dressed. By the time he came back the coffee had cooled considerably and he drank what was left and poured himself another cup. He grabbed his keys from the desktop and went out the door, making sure it was locked behind him.

It was drizzling rain, unusual for Southern California, and he put the top up on the convertible. The sky was fairly clear, so he didn't expect it to last long, but there was no sense in getting wet before he got to Eastmill. After a short drive he found himself in the parking lot and finished what was left of his coffee before going inside.

He saw Fred and waved, then said 'hello' to Jim and Rudy. "Well, guys, what pleasures does Eastmill have in store for us today?"

"Get this joker," Jim laughed.

"Give him a few days. He'll be dragging in here every day like the rest of us." Rudy was smiling when he said it.

"Same as yesterday?" Jeff asked.

All three answered as one. "Same as yesterday."

XXXXXXXX

Stu got up around eight o'clock and fixed himself some coffee. As he was reading the paper he poured a second cup and ate a muffin. When he had finished he took a shower, got dressed in his dark navy suit, grabbed his keys and his briefcase, and headed out to his car. By this time the drizzle had cleared up and the sun was starting to make itself known. It looked like it was going to be a lovely day.

Stu parked in one of the spaces marked 'guest' and went inside. This time he headed straight for Will Cervantes office and knocked softly on the door. "Come in," he heard the accounting manager say.

"Good morning," Stu offered.

There was a young lady, obviously one of the women in the accounting department, bent over something that both she and Will were looking at. "Good morning, Mr. Benson. How are you this morning?"

"Fine, Mr. Cervantes. I wonder if I could have a moment of your time?"

"Certainly. Gina, we'll deal with this later." And Gina took her leave.

"Was that anything important?"

"No," Will answered. "She's fifteen cents out of balance in the weekly ledger and she can't find it. Have a seat. Want a cup of coffee?"

"That would be nice. Thanks, Will."

Will picked up the phone and dialed an extension. "Linda, would you bring us two coffees, please?" He covered the mouthpiece and asked, "Need anything in it?" Stu shook his head 'no' and Will went back to the phone. "Both black, Linda. Thank you."

"What have you got lined up for me today, Will?" Stu was curious to see if there was any documentation on shipments that he could begin tracing.

"I left some older manifests on your uh, desk. Maybe you can tie them in with the ledger." There was a knock on the door and a pretty redhead brought in the coffee. "Thank you, Linda."

As soon as she was gone Stu smiled. "Good, maybe that will give me a starting point."

"Listen, before you go . . . Jerry took you to lunch yesterday. How about you go with me today? Say at twelve-thirty?"

"I think I can manage that. You'll come get me?"

"You bet. Oh and don't forget, if you need anything just call me."

"Thanks, Will. I'll see you later."


	4. Chapter 4

The 9 to 5 Caper

Chapter 4

Jeff spent his break looking through the last few manifests and shipping invoices for the paper company. He found two that Stu should be able to check and wrote down the date, numbers, and amount of product shipped. When he'd finished, he tucked the slip of paper in his pocket and went to see what was in the soda machine today. Jim, Rudy and Fred found him there. "What happened to you this morning?" Rudy asked.

"After a day and a half he's looking for a job," Fred wisecracked.

"Sorry, I should have told you. I had to call my girlfriend and apologize for standing her up last night."

"That's a likely story. What were you doing, really?" Jim wanted to know.

"Really, I called my girlfriend. I fell asleep on the couch and woke up at ten o'clock. I'll be lucky if she speaks to me in a week," Jeff deadpanned.

"See, you wouldn't have that problem if you was married, like us." Rudy laughed when he finished the remark.

"Not me, guys. Too many beautiful women out there."

"The kids got a lot to learn," Jim stated.

They threw boxes around, loaded one truck and unloaded another one, and Jeff helped Rudy make out the shipping orders for three different vehicles. By that time it was lunch, and the four men hit the food truck and then settled down at one of the picnic tables outside. They talked about the Brooklyn Dodgers upcoming move to Los Angeles and what it would mean for Southern California to have a major league baseball team; they talked about the new 1958 cars, and they talked about how hot it would get that summer.

By quitting time Jeff was dead on his feet and couldn't wait to get home to nap. He had to get up sooner this afternoon; he and Stu were meeting at Dinos' at six o'clock. Stu had a date with a lovely brunette named Mimi that night and Jeff had a date with his couch, his television set and Bronco.

He laid down after setting the alarm and once again was woken up by the incessant ringing of that same little devil. He showered and got dressed, grabbed his keys and looked longingly at his couch. "I promise I'll be back soon."

XXXXXXXX

Stu spent the morning tracking the shipment number that Jeff had given him the night before, 17523. Then he started working on the manifests that Will had provided that morning, making a spreadsheet showing date shipped, manifest number, amount shipped, date received, amount received, and date invoiced. Finally he calculated the discrepancy between amount shipped and amount received, if there was one. Just about the time he began muttering about not wanting to grow up to be an accountant, his phone rang. "Arnold Benson," he answered and heard chuckling on the other end.

"Mr. Benson, this is Mr. Cervantes. Are you ready for lunch?"

"Oh, thank God. I thought I was drowning in all the paperwork you people generate."

"I'll be there in five minutes." A 'click' followed.

When the knock on his door came Stu was more than ready to go to lunch. Once he and Will got out of the building and into Will's car, Stu shook his head. He was beginning to get a headache and he didn't know if it was from the glasses he was wearing (no good auditor would be without a pair) or the numbers he had to keep writing down. "I'll be more than glad when I can quit looking at paperwork."

"You must be a man of action," Will laughed.

"As opposed to, what? A man of papers?" It even sounded funny to Stu, and he joined Will's laughter.

"Do you eat fish?"

"Certainly."

"Have you ever had Monkfish?"

Stu looked over to see if Will was serious or not. "Monkfish? No, I don't believe so."

"Do you like lobster?"

"Of course. Show me someone who doesn't. Especially when you're not paying for it."

"They call Monkfish the 'poor man's lobster.' Personally I like it better; it doesn't get tough like lobster does. Sound interesting?"

"Fine with me. I'm always willing to try something new."

"There's a seafood place called Peg Leg John's right down the street. Can't beat the prices and the foods great." Cervantes glanced over at Stu. "Something bothering you? You look concerned."

"Just all these papers and numbers. I'm sure the answer is in there somewhere but so far I haven't found it."

"This is the first full day you've been looking at unfamiliar paperwork. Give yourself time. Sometimes I'm not sure what I'm looking at, and I've been working with the stuff for years."

"I promise not to worry about it if you promise the Monkfish is really mouth-watering," Stu said good-naturedly.

And it was.

Stu left the office about five fifteen and drove straight to Dino's. He needed some alone time to think over everything he'd seen and heard the past two days. He ordered a Vodka Gimlet and lit his pipe. Somehow the pipe helped him focus, especially when things were somewhat murky. Jeff found him in the same booth, in the same position, drinking the same drink.

"Mulling over something?" Spencer asked.

"A whole lot of somethings, actually," Bailey replied. "How was your day?"

"Exhausting. I almost fell asleep driving home. And yours?"

"Boring. I've had to put together a massive spreadsheet with all the pertinent data to track the shipments and deliveries. It has become painfully obvious that I was not meant to be a CPA."

"Are you taking Mimi to dinner?"

"Yes, but not until eight o'clock," Stu answered. "If you want food, go ahead and order."

"Joe, bring me Dino's special burger and fries. Make the burger medium well, and bring us both another Gimlet, would you?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Spencer. Right away. Did you want anything, Mr. Bailey?"

"No, thanks, Joe." Stu re-lit his pipe and looked at his partner. "You have a list for me?"

"Yes I do, and it's a good thing you reminded me. Here, these are recent and you should be able to track them." Jeff handed Stu the slip of paper from this morning, with all the pertinent information written down. Stu put it in his wallet. "Do you want me to get any more?"

"No, not right now. Let me see where I get with these, first. Just play good-old-boy for the next two days and we'll see where we are then."

"Is it really that bad?" Jeff questioned Stu.

"Compared to other things I've done? No."

They sat together in silence for a few minutes; one waiting for his dinner, the other for his date. Then Joe appeared with the burger and fries and Jeff practically wolfed them down. When he was finished, Stu suggested they check-in at the office for a few minutes, and Jeff walked next door with him. "Anything that needs immediate attention?"

Jeff looked through his messages. "One. This call to Ralph Henry should be returned. Will you have time in the morning?"

"Sure. Let me have the message. I'll take care of it for you."

"Thanks. Well, you and Mimi have a good time."

Stu practically leered at him. "I certainly hope we will. Do you have plans for tonight?"

"Yeah, I'm going to spend it sleeping. If I'm awake I'll watch Bronco. Can we make it seven o'clock tomorrow night? This six o'clock practically did me in."

"Seven o'clock it is. Be careful going home. I don't want to read about you in the morning papers."

"You won't," Jeff assured him. "You do the same."

"Will do." 


	5. Chapter 5

The 9 to 5 Caper

Chapter 5

The next days passed without any extraordinary events taking place. Jeff began to get used to both the physical labor and the strange hours; Stu made progress with his spreadsheets and began to see an emerging pattern. The partners met every evening at Dino's to discuss the day's events and what they'd discovered. Sometimes they had dinner together, sometimes they didn't. They missed the daily interaction with each other and both looked forward to their meetings. Suzanne, back at the office, missed both of them.

Jeff's social life suffered mightily. Most nights he was still too tired to go out. When Stu didn't have a social engagement he spent his evenings in the office, catching up on other work. He gave it his best effort to keep abreast of both his and Jeff's cases. He was well aware that Jeff was pulling the heavier load at Eastmill, and did everything he could to make up for the inequity of the workload.

Stu paid particular attention to the first shipment that Jeff's crew had loaded and sent out, 17523. According to the original manifest, three-hundred forty-nine cases of parchment white paper had been sent out, but there were only three-hundred twenty-seven cases unloaded. Twenty-two cases were missing. The truck hadn't made any stops except for the two scheduled for fuel and one for rest, and the driver didn't report any unscheduled delays.

He was able to track two other orders from beginning shipment to invoice and found one that was received the way it was sent. The second one was short twenty-five cartons. The tracking work was time-consuming and he still didn't have much in the way of invoices and payments. By Friday he went to see Will Cervantes.

He closed the door to Will's office on his way in. "Uh-oh. That's not a good sign."

"Curious about something. Didn't you tell me that one of your girls was going to bring me invoices and another would provide the payments ledger?"

"I did indeed. Haven't you gotten either one yet?"

Stu shook his head. "No."

Will looked like an unhappy camper. "Have a seat." He picked up his phone and dialed an extension. "Cathy, come to my office. I don't care what you're in the middle of. Come down here now." The next extension received the same treatment. "Bernadette, come down to my office. Yes, now."

In just a minute or two there was a very meek knock on the door. "Come in."

Two young women opened the door and entered. "Cathy, I asked you to pull some invoices for Mr. Benson. And Bernadette, where's the payments ledger? I want you to drop everything you're doing and get Mr. Benson the items I requested. NOW, ladies. Thank you."

They hurried back out without a word and Stu suppressed a snicker. "Weren't you a little hard on your ladies?"

"No, sir. I give them a lot of leeway in their jobs, but when I ask for something I don't want to find out two days later that my request has been ignored. That's when it becomes an order. If you don't have the data in one hour I want to know."

Stu checked his watch. "Alright. One hour. Thank you, by the way."

It didn't take a full hour. Cathy's invoices were in Stuart's hands within thirty-five minutes and five minutes later he had the payments ledger from Bernadette, along with a crib sheet that explained all the notations in it. Stu picked up the phone and dialed Will's extension. "Mission accomplished, and thank you again."

Stuart continued his data entry and made sure he had most of what he needed. He left Eastmill about four-thirty after locking the conference room door with the keys Will had given him. He headed for the Bailey and Spencer offices, having agreed to meet Jeff there early tonight since it was a Friday and Eastmill was closed Saturday and Sunday.

By the time he arrived, Jeff had already taken care of two or three smaller issues. Stu headed for his office and found the adjoining door open. "Stuart," Jeff called.

"Yes, Jefferson," Stu replied as he leaned on the door frame and lit a cigarette.

"Where's all the work I left?"

"It's done."

"All of it?" Jeff asked incredulously.

"Yes, sir. All of it."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm appreciative. But why?"

"Let's just say it was done to ease my conscience," Stuart admitted. "I had trouble reconciling the fact that I was free to pursue all the loveliness that abounds in the world and you weren't."

"Is there anything that's left to take care of?"

"Yes. Dinner."

"Is that what my stomach keeps growling about?" Jeff had a grin pasted all over his face. It was times like this that he really appreciated having Stu Bailey for a partner. "Let's go find some food, dad."

An hour later they were finishing dessert and talking about Eastmill Paper. Stu explained what had occurred with Cathy, Bernadette and Will, and Jeff laughed at Will's iron fist in a velvet glove approach. "It appears to work," Stuart explained carefully. "How's it going down at your end?"

"I'm not really sure. I wish to God you could come down and meet these three clowns. I'd love to find out what you think of them. I swear there's something going on there, Stu, but I just can't put my finger on it. Sometimes it's like a secret club and I don't know the password. They've worked together for a long time, but it's more than that. Honest, I 'd like to get your take on them. You think the auditor can come downstairs and meet them?"

"I don't see why not. I'll pull that manifest from the first day you were there and come to the warehouse to ask questions about it. Then I'll find an error and you can explain it was your first day. That should give them an opening to see if it's all for one and one for all or every man for himself."

"That should work. Well, let me get out of here before your date shows up."

Stu smiled at his partner. "I don't have a date, Jeff."

"But it's Friday night. What are you doing dateless?"

"To be honest with you, I thought maybe we could just sit and talk until the music starts. Then we can sit and drink. It's not right, somehow, not seeing each other during the day. What do you say?"

"It sounds good to me."

Just then Doug came by to see if they wanted anything else. "Brandy, Doug. For both of us," Jeff ordered.

"Gentlemen, may I ask you a personal question?"

"What's that, Doug?" Stu asked.

"Are you two feeling alright?"

They looked at each other, and then at Doug. "Why?" came from Jeff.

"Well, I don't mean to talk out of turn, but it's Friday night and there are no ladies with you."

Stu supplied the answer. "We're taking the night off."


	6. Chapter 6

The 9 to 5 Caper

Chapter 6

The weekend came and went the way weekends usually do, and before anyone had the opportunity to exhale it was Monday morning. Jeff had gotten a chance to catch up on his sleep and Stu had gotten a chance to catch up with Mimi. They started Monday morning with a plan.

Stu called Will as soon as he got to Eastmill. "I need a minute of your time at your earliest convenience." Less than five minutes later there was a knock on Stu's door. "Come in."

"Hey, good morning. Why so formal on the phone?"

Stu wrote his answer on a piece of paper. _'Just in case someone's listening. You can never be too careful_. _But you didn't have to run right down._'

Will chuckled. "I have to keep the auditor happy. What can I do for you, Mr. Benson?"

"I need to talk to the team that loaded this truck," and Stu handed Will the manifest.

"Is there a problem with it?"

"Can you please introduce me to the team? I'll ask them my questions."

"Certainly. Is now convenient?" Will was keeping this conversation formal, too, just as Stu had.

"Most assuredly."

The two men left the office and Stu locked it behind him. Once they were in the elevator Stuart explained. "We have a plan. Jeff thinks there is something off with the three he's working with. We've worked out a way for him to earn their trust. If you would, make the introductions and come back upstairs. I'll explain at lunch."

"Back to Peg Leg John's?"

"Sure. Noon?"

Will nodded. "We're here."

They exited the elevator and wound their way across the floor to the loading dock. "Jim, Fred, Rudy, Jeff, can I have you over here for a minute?" Once the four men had assembled, Will made the introductions. "Gentlemen, this is Mr. Benson, the auditor. I'm sure you're aware of his presence here at Eastmill. Mr. Benson, this is Jim Dial, Fred Booth, Rudy Singer and Jeff Sampson. They're all yours, Mr. Benson."

Once Cervantes was gone, Stu turned to the man that looked the guiltiest. That was Jim Dial. "Can you tell me who prepared this manifest, please?"

He handed the form to Dial, who had actually completed the paperwork. "Well . . . "

Jeff took the form from Jim's hands. He looked at it and caught the error Stu 'found.' "I did the manifest and I see why you're confused. I filled out the form wrong. It was my first day at work and I made an error. This number on the bottom should be in this box. Sorry. I hope you can understand an honest mistake."

"There are a lot of auditors that wouldn't, Mr. . . . was it Sampson? Mr. Sampson. I'm not one of those. Just make sure you're completing it correctly now." Stu retrieved the paper from Jeff and headed back towards the elevator. Once he got in and disappeared, Jim turned to Jeff.

"Why did you do that?"

"What?" The P.I. asked innocently.

"Claim that mistake? You knew it was mine," Dial asked.

"I could tell it was yours by the way you hesitated. I just figured he'd go a little easier on me since I was new."

"You didn't have to," Jim insisted.

Jeff smiled his little smile, that 'I just ate the canary' smile. "I know I didn't. But we should protect each other if we can, shouldn't we?"

A look passed between Jim, Rudy and Fred . . . a look that said 'let's talk about this.' Jeff saw it and knew that his and Stu's charade had jarred something loose. He turned and went back to the pallet he was loading when Will called them over.

XXXXXXXX

Stu waited until they were in Peg Leg John's before he said anything. "Do you recognize anyone in here?" He asked the accounting manager. Will looked around.

"No."

"Look around again and be sure. Jeff's life may depend on it."

"No. I don't recognize anyone."

"Jeff has a funny feeling about the three men he's working with. Now, if it were anyone else I might ignore it, but this is Jeff we're talking about. His instincts are usually dead on. So we devised a plan to try and flush them out in the open. IF anything is going on."

"I didn't tell you, did I?" Will asked. "Jim's wife is the Cathy that I called into my office last week, and Fred's girlfriend is Bernadette."

"That makes them all suspect. Jim made a mistake on the first manifest that was completed on Jeff's first day of work, and Jeff claimed the error as his. He wanted to prove to them that he's worthy of being trusted. I think I'll find out tonight if it worked. From now on, let's keep our talks strictly between Mr. Cervantes and Mr. Benson, especially in the plant. If we want to talk we can do it at lunch or in your car. We can't afford any leaks."

"See, I introduce you to Monkfish and this is how you treat me. No, seriously Stu, I understand. Look, here's my home phone number. You can call me there anytime."

"Good. And here's mine. Same thing, whenever you need to talk. Keep a close eye on Cathy and Bernadette; I have the feeling they're involved somehow. Now, let's order. I'm starved."

XXXXXXXX

Jeff and Stu met after work at Dino's, as usual, and started off with two Vodka Gimlets, as usual. "Well, tell me. Don't keep me in suspense," Stuart practically pleaded.

"I don't know for sure yet. There was something going on between the three of them, and they went off together after work. I'm hoping tomorrow morning will give us more information. Did you explain everything to Cervantes?"

"Yes, once I got him out of the office. I warned him to be careful, and I think we can count on him. He did give me some valuable information, though. Remember I told you how Will chewed on Cathy and Bernadette for not giving me the data I asked for? Cathy is Mrs. Jim Dial, and Bernadette is Fred's girlfriend."

"Oh my. Do you suppose we walked into it?" Jeff had a right to be concerned. It was his neck on the line.

"No, I don't think so. I haven't seen anything unusual from the girls, and Will's keeping an eye on the two of them. Just be careful. I just got you broken in; I don't want to have to replace you," Stu made it sound like a joke, but his expression was deadly serious.

"Keep your fingers crossed tomorrow. It's about time we caught a break. And I mean a real break."


	7. Chapter 7

The 9 to 5 Caper

Chapter 7

Jeff went to Eastmill the next day not knowing what to expect. Jim, Fred and Rudy were involved in something, of that he was certain. And he was just as certain that it had something to do with the hundred thousand dollars third-quarter loss to Eastmill's general ledger.

Everything seemed the same as it always was. None of the three said or did anything unusual. There was so much work to do that there was very little of the normal chit-chat that went on among the four of them. Once or twice he could feel someone watching him, but when he turned around everyone was going about their normal business. It stayed that way until the four of them were on their way back inside, having eaten lunch at one of the picnic tables out back. Rudy caught up to Jeff right before they got inside with an invitation – the first of its kind. "Hey, Sampson, the three of us are going to Mike's Seaside for a drink after work today. Why don't you come with us?"

Jeff appeared to think it over and then shook his head. "Naw, thanks, Rudy. I'm too worn out when I get off work to be doing anything like that. Thanks just the same."

"Aw, come on. We haven't done anything like this in a long time. Join us, and we'll officially welcome you to Eastmill. It's taken us long enough."

Jeff chewed on his lip as if thinking it over. "You're not gonna make it a late-night, are you?"

"Are you kidding? Work starts too early to do that. Come on, go with."

"Oh, alright. I'll have to follow somebody, though, because I don't know where Mike's is."

"No problem. I'm glad you're going with us," Rudy looked genuinely pleased.

"One thing," Jeff said. "I gotta call my girlfriend and tell her I'm not going straight home. Give me a minute to use the phone."

Jeff went to the payphone, dropped a dime in it, and dialed Will's direct line. Stu only had an internal phone. "Will Cervantes."

"Hey, Darlene, I'm going out with the crew for a beer after work. No, I'll be home tonight. Come on over to my place. I'll call you when I get home. Me, too."

Will hung up the phone on his end and walked down to Stu's conference room. He knocked on the door, heard "Come in" and did just that. While Stu watched him, he wrote a note. _'Jeff called Darlene and said he was going out for a beer with the boys. He'll call you when he gets home and you should meet him at his place.'_

'_You're getting to be good at this. Want a job?'_

'_No, thanks.' _ Will went back to his office, having delivered the message.

Stu finished the page he was working on, got up and left the room. He was halfway down the hall before he remembered that he hadn't locked the door. After taking care of that he went to Will's office. "Mr. Cervantes, I have an appointment elsewhere this afternoon. I'll be back in the morning."

Will looked up and smiled. "Thank you for telling me, Mr. Benson. We'll see you tomorrow."

Stu nodded and left for the day. He went to the office, where he tried to do something constructive but didn't have much luck. He sat over at Dino's for a while smoking and drinking a gimlet, then he drove home and paced the floor. He was going to worry until he knew exactly what the three men Jeff was with were capable of.

Finally the phone rang. Stu glanced at his watch - it was almost six-thirty. He picked up the receiver and just to be safe answered it 'Arnold Benson.'

"Were you waiting for me, Darlene?" Jeff's voice, sounding perfectly normal.

"No."

Then he heard that Jeff laugh and knew that, at least so far, everything was alright. "Liar."

Stu would have been halfway out the door if he could have taken the phone with him. "Are you home?"

"Ready and waiting. I'll have the drinks mixed. Are you here yet?"

"I'm on my way." Stu grabbed his keys, closed and locked the door, and went down to his car. It wasn't far to Jeff's place, and he arrived in just a few minutes. He knocked on the door and waited. Jeff opened it with a smile on his face and the beginnings of a black eye. "What happened?"

"It was an accident. I'll tell you the whole story, but I'm starving. There's a little Chinese place down the street. Are you game?"

"As long as I can get a drink before dinner. Waiting for you to call is hard on the nerves."

Jeff was right, the Chinese Restaurant was less than five minutes away. It was a nice little place, and they were seated by a lovely girl who couldn't have been more than twenty. Spencer smiled at her and held up two fingers. In just a few minutes there were two fresh Vodka Gimlets on the table.

"What's good?" Stu asked.

"Everything on the menu."

"Will you order? I'll eat anything. I need to take an aspirin to get rid of this headache."

"I hope I didn't give it to you," Jeff remarked.

"I've had it all day. I left Eastmill early because I just couldn't sit there any longer." Stu took two aspirin and waited to hear Jeff's story . . . especially the part about the black eye.

The lovely girl from earlier took their order. Stu thought Jeff had ordered enough food to feed an army but said nothing.

"They asked me when we were coming in from lunch to join them for a beer after work at a place called Mike's Seaside. I allowed them to persuade me, and I followed Rudy over there. One beer led to two, and by the end of the second they were telling me the whole story. I guess the little drama that you and I put on convinced them I was the right man to be let into the inner circle.

"Anyway, it works like this. The clients are divided into two groups, A thru M and N thru Z. Cathy Johnson handles A through M, and that's the group we load trucks for. When Cathy gets an invoice she makes up a manifest. Sometimes the invoice and the manifest match, sometimes they don't. If the invoice shows more product than the manifest it looks like paper disappeared off the truck. The client is invoiced for the higher amount, and when they pay all that shows up on the ledger is the manifest cost. The difference is deposited to another account, one that's controlled by Bernadette.

"If the invoice shows less product than the manifest, the difference is simply chalked up to a miscount and the paper is actually removed from the truck. Then it's sold on the black market."

"How are they doing that? The driver's don't report any non-scheduled stops."

"The manifest is forged. The product goes into Jim, Fred or Rudy's van. It's never loaded on the truck."

"How are they getting away with this? Didn't you notice something odd?"

Jeff chuckled. "They've only done it once since I've been there, and that was on my very first day. I wouldn't have noticed anything wrong or missing if it had stood up and waved at me. Now that I can recognize some of these things they had to bring me in on it, or quit. I proved my loyalty with your question."

Stu looked less confused than he had before. "And it didn't get caught on audit because the actual audit is several months overdue. So before we figure out how to handle this, tell me about the black eye."

"You'll never believe it," Jeff explained while he took second helping of everything they'd ordered. "We were shooting pool, and one of the cue balls jumped the table just as I leaned over." He looked at Stu, who had finished what was on his plate and stopped eating. "Is that all you're going to eat?"

"That was more than enough, Jefferson. And you were correct, it was all very good."

"Mind if I take what's left home with me?"

"Not a bit," Stu answered, "because the Spencer half of Bailey and Spencer is going to pay for it."


	8. Chapter 8

The 9 to 5 Caper

Chapter 8

"Much as I would like to say we can close up shop and end this right now, that's just what we can't do. We need to have proof of their duplicity, or at least catch them in the act." It was Stu talking, and Jeff was giving him his full attention.

"Do you have any suggestions?" Jeff finally asked.

"None at the moment, unfortunately." They'd gone back to Jeff's apartment after dinner and were having a brandy while they talked. Stu had finally gotten rid of his headache, but just what to do next was giving him a whole new one. The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet and their brandies. Then Stu sat up straight. "Wait a minute, maybe I do. You've already established that you call the fictitious Darlene. When they make out the next manifest that shows more than you're loading, if you can call Will and tell him to come down right now, we might have a shot. He can grab me and we'll catch them loading product into their vehicles. Then we can call Gil to come get the whole bunch."

"That means I have to wait until they're ready to start loading their trucks. What if the phone's in use?"

"Then we wait until the next time. What are the odds of that happening?"

Jeff had to grin. He was paying Stu back for the crack about who was buying dinner. "Slim to none. Nobody uses that phone but the four of us, and three of them will be occupied."

"Very funny. I'll go in tomorrow and tell Will that Mr. Benson is wrapping up the audit. That's a good enough reason to go to lunch, and I can explain the plan to him then. It wouldn't do to have Darlene in the dark."

"No, it wouldn't. I get the feeling they want to resume their little 'game' sooner rather than later. And I'll be glad when this is all over. I still can't get used to getting up that early and then heaving boxes around all day," Jeff remarked, with more than a hint of irony in his voice. "Wouldn't it be nice to have a peaceful case. You know, guarding a million dollars for the Treasury Department or something. Just so it didn't involve a lot of physical labor or pretending we're people other than Jeff Spencer and Stu Bailey."

"It probably wouldn't pay to have a peaceful case. Besides what are we going to do, look for lost children or chase after missing dogs? Face it, Jeff, you just need a vacation. We need a vacation," Stu said with a sigh. "And I don't think we're going to get one anytime soon." He set down his brandy glass and stood up. "If I sit here much longer I'm going to fall asleep. Meet you at Dino's tomorrow night?"

"Seven o'clock?"

"Seven it is. Goodnight." And with that, Stu was gone.

XXXXXXXX

Mr. Benson wandered down to Will Cervantes office the next morning. "I wonder if you're free for lunch today, Mr. Cervantes? I'm getting close to finishing the audit and there are some things I'd like to discuss with you."

"Certainly, Mr. Benson. Say, twelve noon?"

"That will be fine, Mr. Cervantes."

When twelve o'clock approached, Stu went back to Will's office. Will picked up his keys and they left for the parking lot. Once they were in Will's car, Stu noticed they were headed in a different direction from their usual spot, Peg Leg John's. "Will . . . "

"I know, Peg Leg John's. One of the girls that used to work in the office got a job there. I didn't think we should take a chance."

Within just a few minutes they pulled up in front of Mike Below Jakes. "I have to say, you certainly have some uniquely named restaurants around here." Stu was smiling when he finished.

"That we do. The food is almost as good here as it is at Peg Legs. Better variety, actually."

"I can't wait to try it," the PI remarked casually. "And you're sure . . . "

"That nobody I know works here. Yes, sir, I'm sure."

They were led to a table and given a menu. "You're right, they do have a better variety," Stu remarked.

Both men made their decisions quickly, and Stuart proceeded to explain the plan to Will. The waitress brought their drinks, then their lunch, and Stu was almost finished with the plan he and Jeff had put in place. "So you have to be Darlene."

"No problem. I'll wait for the call."

Will paid the bill and both men were smiling as they left the restaurant. Their waitress picked up the tip left on the table and watched Will's car drive away. She'd have a story to tell her husband when he got home.

XXXXXXXX

When her husband arrived home from work he was usually exhausted. She handed him a beer and went to check on dinner, his favorite, rib-eye steak and baked potatoes. When she called him to the dinner table his eyes lit up when he caught sight of the steak. "What are we celebrating?" he asked.

"Remember how you sneered at my 'little, dinky' waitress job?"

"Oh, not that again, baby. I thought we had that settled." He sounded sad and depressed at the same time.

"You had it settled. I didn't. I'm gonna make you eat your words."

"Alright, what is this all about?" He decided to humor her. She had made a great dinner, after all.

"This is all about your newest team member. You know, the one everybody raved about; how he jumped right in to help, and how he fit in so well with the team."

He nodded his head as he chewed. "I remember." What was she leading up to? He and his wife hadn't been on the best of terms ever since he harassed her about the job.

"His real name is Jeff Spencer and he's a PI."

"What!?" he practically squeaked.

"And what's more, his partner is Mr. Benson, the auditor, real name Stu Bailey. And Cervantes is in with them."

He set down his knife and fork and stared at her. "How do you know this?"

"They came to eat lunch at Mike Below Jakes today, and I served them."

"Did they see you? Do they know who you are?"

"They saw me, plenty. But neither one of them knows me. I heard the whole plan, and boy are you guys in trouble." She'd been unhappy when it was decided to keep the money all in one spot until they were ready to escape to Mexico . . . he'd made her feel like a Dumb Dora. What she was about to let him in on was sweet revenge.

"Come on, baby, you gotta tell me what's going down. We got more than enough stashed away to get out of the state on. We can go down to Mexico and live like we planned. Please, baby?"

He was cute when he begged. "Alright, I can't stand to see you like this. Here's what I overheard . . ."

XXXXXXXX

All was quiet the next day. Jeff didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, and neither did Stu. Then on the second day Jim, Fred and Rudy started talking to Jeff about the next shipment that was going out short. They hoped to make the switch to their own vehicles this afternoon and finish loading the Eastmill truck tomorrow morning. As soon as lunch was over Jeff headed for the phone, ostensibly to call his girlfriend, Darlene. What he found was the one thing he and Stu hadn't anticipated. The phone was off the hook and there was a big 'Out of Order' sign on it.

Spencer had no idea where there was another phone, so he asked Jim. "There isn't one on this floor," Jim told him. "It's in the break room on the next floor up."

"You mean to say they've got a break room and we don't?" Jeff asked.

"Yep. Here's an even better one for you . . . you have to climb the stairs to get to it. It's right outside the stairwell."

"What we have to do to stay in touch with our girlfriends, huh?"

Jeff walked across the floor casually and started up the stairs. He'd no sooner gotten to the top when he had to make a sharp left to find the phone. He took the phone off the hook, deposited a dime, and was relieved to hear a dial tone. He didn't see Fred waiting in the shadows on the opposite side of the stairwell, and he never saw the gun butt coming. But he certainly felt it.

Stu didn't hear from Jeff that afternoon, but that wasn't unusual. They had a standard meeting at Dino's every evening at seven o'clock, and Stu sat in the 'thinkin' and drinkin' booth and waited for his partner to show up. Seven-thirty came and went, as did eight o'clock, when he called Johnny over. "Keep the drinks here, Johnny. I'm going to call him. He's probably still asleep." Johnny nodded and Stu headed for the payphone right inside the front door. He deposited a dime and dialed, and let the phone ring eight, nine, ten times. No answer and an uneasy feeling descended upon him.

Stu went outside. "Get my car, Kookie."

"Where's the Jeffster, dad?"

"Just exactly what I'm going to find out. If he shows up here, don't let him leave."

"Got it, dad."

Stu hopped in the convertible and pulled out of the parking lot. At this time of night he could go speeding down the Strip and be at Jeff's door in a matter of minutes. He knocked on the door, loud enough to wake his partner up, and finally got out his key. It was dark inside; there was no sign that Jeff had been there since this morning. Back to the car and he switched directions and went back to Eastmill Paper. The parking lot was almost empty, and Jeff's convertible stuck out like a sore thumb. '_What the_ _heck?'_ Stu thought. '_Where is he?'_


	9. Chapter 9

The 9 to 5 Caper

Chapter 9

'_What the heck?'_ is just what Jeff thought when he woke up. Everything was foggy, and it took a minute for his head to clear. He felt a slight rocking and knew he was on a boat; it took a moment longer to realize he was tied to a deck chair. The only thing he had going for him was no gag in his mouth . . . until he figured they were far enough out to sea so his yelling wouldn't be heard by anyone. Which meant there was no reason to yell.

He looked around as best he could. There were multiple beds throughout the cabin, indicating multiple couples aboard. The rest of the space was taken up with supplies, carefully stored away. He wondered who it was that hit him, Fred or Rudy. How much did they know, and how did they find out? He tested the bindings on his hands and legs; he wasn't going anywhere soon. He could hear people up on deck and tried counting how many, but they were moving around too much to make an adequate determination.

He sat there for fifteen to twenty minutes before he heard someone coming downstairs. From the lightness of the steps it sounded like a woman, and in just a minute he was proven right. She was medium height and slender, with long brown hair worn in what would later be called the hippie style, and she didn't look at all unhappy to see him. From Stu's descriptions of Cathy and Bernadette, this must be Rudy's wife.

"Well, Jeff, it's about time you woke up."

He'd try charming, first. Stu said he was good at that. "You have me at a disadvantage, Mrs. Singer." He gave her his best smile; that was about all he could do.

"Very intuitive, I'm impressed. And the name is Bobbie. " She stopped on the far side of the cabin, well out of his reach should he get free. "Bobbie Singer. I believe you know my husband."

"I thought I did. Now this. Why, Mrs. Singer?"

She dug into one of the boxes of supplies and pulled out a carton of cigarettes. "I believe you'll have to ask him that, Mr. Spencer." She took the cigarettes and went back up on deck. It took him a minute to realize what she'd called him. Mr. Spencer. So she'd just affirmed what was already apparent . . . that Dial, Singer and Booth knew his name. But did they know why he was there?

It was a while before he had the chance to find out. The gentle rocking of the boat ceased and was replaced by a rougher, more violent movement. The boat rocked and rolled and Jeff struggled his hardest to remain upright, but the deck chair seemed to have a mind of its own. After a particularly ferocious roll he found the chair falling, with him underneath it. Something hit him on the side of the head as he went down and he didn't stay conscious long enough to find out what it was.

Sometime later he could feel the movement of the deck chair as it was set upright, Jeff along with it. He kept his eyes closed and played unconscious. "Let's get out of here before he wakes up." Spencer recognized Fred's voice.

"If you're afraid he's going to bite you we can put a gag on him." That was Jim.

"Stop it, Jim. I'm not afraid of him. I just feel . . . he seemed like such a good fit with our group, a good man."

"He was, Fred, but it was all fake. Phony. An act. He was there to take everything we've worked so hard for away from us. You forget, it was him or us. We made a choice to get rid of him when we found out what Bobbie overheard. My only regret is that we couldn't get his partner, too."

No more was said and after a few seconds, Jeff realized they'd gone back to the upper deck. What he'd just heard chilled him to the bone._ 'We made a choice to get rid of _him' rang in his ears; it was apparent their meaning involved murder . . . his murder. He'd been working on trying to get his hands free before; now it became his sole focus. As long as there was no one downstairs he had a chance to do just that. At least Stu was out of harm's way.

XXXXXXXX

Stu was, at that very moment, explaining to Lieutenant Gilmore what he and Jeff had been up to for the last several weeks. When he was through Gilmore heaved a sigh. "Do you have any idea where they might have taken him?"

Stu shook his head. "After I located Jeff's car at the plant I called Will Cervantes. He met me at the back door and went through the personnel files until he had the home addresses for Dial, Singer and Booth. I checked all three places. There was no sign of life at any of them. No cars, no lights, no people. From what Will told me about Cathy Dial and Bernadette Shafer, it's a good bet they headed for Mexico. They must have driven someplace first because all of the cars were gone, even the wives' cars. They wouldn't have tried to cross the border with a hostage. Of course, they might have already killed Jeff." Stu stopped, turning white as a sheet when he realized what he'd said.

Gil reached out to steady his friend, but Stu waved him off. "I'm alright." Stu paused for a moment. "That's unlikely, too. If they're smart they'll keep him for a bargaining chip." '_Of course, I haven't seen anything that makes me think they're smart, but one can always hope. And I do so hope,' _raced throughStu's mind_._

XXXXXXXX

Jeff was thinking the same thing as he worked feverishly at the ropes that held him practically immobile. There was one small spot in the back of the loop that encircled his left hand, and he'd been trying to work that loose for what seemed like hours. He heard steps again and waited to see who came down for what this time. The what appeared to be him, as it was Jim Dial with a snub-nosed .38 in his hand, and an unfriendly look in his eye. Dial turned his head slightly and called upstairs, "Fred, get down here."

Jeff was at a loss for words until he knew for sure what was going on. It didn't take long for him to find out. Fred appeared on the stairs just as Jim reached the bottom step. "What now, Jim?" he called down.

"Come down here. I need some help. It's time."

That remark made it quite plain what Jim's intention was. Jeff didn't waste any time. "Can't you find a better use for me than to shoot me and dump me over the side of the boat?"

"No," was Jim's perfunctory answer. "Fred, where are you?"

"I'm not coming, Jim. I agree with Samp . . . Spencer. There must be a better use for him than just to kill him."

Jim stood glaring up the staircase for a long time. "Fine," he murmured under his breath. Then, louder, "Send Rudy down."

"I'm not coming either, Jim. I don't want you to shoot him. We might need a hostage, and he's the perfect one." Rudy made his opinion known, loud and clear.

"What for? We're already in international waters. Let's do what we agreed on and take care of him now."

"Uh, Jim?" Jeff spoke up.

"What do you want, Spencer?"

"International waters or not, you don't get a free ride. Murder is murder, no matter where it happens."

"See, Jim? I think we have to keep him alive, just in case we need him. If you insist on going through with this, you'll do it by yourself," Fred had come halfway downstairs.

"I don't like it. I don't like it one bit. He betrayed us, for God's sake. He infiltrated our group and did everything he could to bring us down. He was going to put us behind bars, put our wives behind bars, and you want to forget about that and keep him alive, IN CASE?"

"Yes," Rudy agreed.

"Yes," Fred added.

Jim climbed the stairs to the upper deck and handed the gun to Rudy. "He's all yours. You do what you want with him." Then he walked to the other end of the boat.


	10. Chapter 10

The 9 to 5 Caper

Chapter 10

Jeff had no idea where they were, or where they were going, and at this exact moment he didn't care. Fred and Rudy had done what he didn't have the chance to do, talk the man with the gun out of committing murder. His murder. Of course, that was no guarantee Jim Dial wouldn't come back later and finish what he'd started.

Sometime later Cathy Dial came downstairs, without her husband or his gun. She carried a bottle of water and, he hoped, food of some kind. He wasn't disappointed. Cathy set what she'd brought with her on the small counter opposite Jeff and stared at him. Finally the silence was broken by the reluctant guest. "Mrs. Dial, if you brought that for me I can't eat it with my hands tied. Unless you intend to feed me yourself."

She didn't say anything, just shook her head and made her way carefully behind him. His hands had been tied with great care and it took her a few minutes to untie them. She backed off immediately, out of Jeff's reach, and called up the stairs, "Now, Fred."

Fred came downstairs pointing the gun in Jeff's direction. "Don't try anything funny, Spencer. I don't want to shoot you, but I will." He turned to Cathy. "Give him the food and water and be careful." She did as told, and scurried out of the way. Jeff made no attempt to do anything other than take what he was given. Now was not the time to make any kind of a move; not when there was a gun pointed right at him. Those were not good odds.

Fred retreated, but Cathy stood by the bottom step for the longest time. She watched Jeff wolf down the food; it didn't matter what it was. It was the first time he'd had anything to eat in over twenty-four hours. He drank the water and then stopped to return her stare, punctuated by a smile. "Is there something you want, Mrs. Dial?"

"I want to know why."

Jeff cocked his head to one side. "Why what, Mrs. Dial?"

"Why did you betray Jim and Fred and Rudy?"

"I didn't betray them. They were breaking the law, stealing from Eastmill. You were helping them; so was Bernadette. Did you think that was alright, Mrs. Dial?"

"Jerry Eastmill's got more money than God, Mr. Spencer. And he doesn't pay anybody near what they're worth. Between the two of us, Jim and me barely made enough to get by. Same with Rudy and Bobbie. And it's even worse for Fred and Bernadette; they have to keep two households. So the men did what they could to make it a little easier. Then you came along. Now we're here."

"Surely you don't blame this all on me?"

"You and your partner, that so-called auditor."

"Think about this, Mrs. Dial. If you and the others hadn't decided to steal from Eastmill, Jerry Eastmill wouldn't have employed us, and none of us would be here right now. Your husband intends to kill me, Mrs. Dial." Jeff could tell from the expression on Cathy Dial's face that she didn't know just how far her husband was determined to go. She was shaking her head 'no,' but Jeff's words stopped her. "If you don't believe me, ask him. Or Fred or Rudy. Jim is going to make you an accessory to capital murder when he shoots me and dumps my body overboard." The look Jeff got was one of abject horror.

"Fred!" she called out, and the man himself appeared. "Fred, was Jim going to kill this man?"

"You should ask Jim, Cathy."

"I didn't ask Jim, I asked you. Was it my husband's intention to kill Mr. Spencer?"

There was a long, quiet spell while Fred decided whether to tell the truth or not. Finally, he gave her an honest answer. "Yes. " Pause. "We agreed with him at first, but Rudy and me changed our minds. We don't want to be part of a murder."

"Does he still intend to go through with it? All by himself?"

"If he has to."

"Where are we, Fred?" Jeff thought it was about time he found out.

"We're close to Ensenada. If a man was a really strong swimmer, he could make it to shore." Fred made his point by looking at Jeff.

"Are you a really strong swimmer, Mr. Spencer?" Cathy Dial asked.

"I hope so, Mrs. Dial."

XXXXXXXX

Stu had been trying to sleep on the couch in his office without any success. It was over twenty-four hours since Jeff and the others disappeared, and there was no word from Gil. Stu had been reduced to staring at the ceiling, trying his damndest to avoid thinking. Because when he thought he was reminded of that incontrovertible fact – the more time that elapsed after someone disappeared, the more likely it was that they were . . . _'Say it, you coward,'_ Stu thought. _'Dead.'_

His stomach blanched and he sat up hurriedly. There was no sense in laying back down; sleep was proving just as elusive as the fugitives. They were headed for Mexico . . . at least that's what everyone assumed. Then why couldn't anybody find them? The cars had vanished; Gil and Stu both believed they were fleeing by boat, but no boat registered to any of them could be found. It appeared that seven people had simply disappeared from the face of the earth. Right now Stu only cared about one of them.

He sat down behind his desk and pulled out a map of Southern California. The map included Baja California and most of the surrounding waters. He knew Jeff was out there somewhere; he had to be. Why couldn't Gil turn up a lead – any kind of lead?

And then, it seemed, a prayer was answered. It was three o'clock in the morning, there was only one reason for the phone to be ringing. "Gil?" Stu asked immediately.

"We've found somebody that saw them. I'll be there in five minutes to pick you up." The phone went dead on the other end. Gilmore didn't allow for the fact that Stu could be asleep, or undressed, or otherwise occupied. The Lieutenant knew better than that. And he knew Stuart would be waiting for him.


	11. Chapter 11

The 9 to 5 Caper

Chapter 11

"Tell me what you know, Gil," Stu practically pleaded as he got into the unmarked squad car.

"It's not much, Stu. I got a call from the San Diego Chief of Police. He's got a used car dealer that swears he bought two cars from them yesterday."

"We headed there now?"

"You bet."

Neither man said much while they drove. The sun was just starting to come up when they arrived at the San Diego Police Station and were ushered into the chief's office. As soon as introductions were made, Gil got right down to it. "Look, Chief Madison, a man's life is at stake here. A friend of both mine and Mr. Bailey's, so anything you can tell us might help."

"I can do more than tell you, Lieutenant Gilmore. We're still questioning Dave Campbell on unrelated matters. He's just down the hall in interrogation room three. You can talk to him yourself. We've got enough on him to put him away for a nice long time. I'm sure you'll find him cooperative."

Interrogation room three yielded a very nervous looking car salesman, who was eager to tell the Lieutenant anything that might help gain him some leverage with the local police. "Like I told Madison, it was early morning, around ten. I'd just opened and these three guys show up, all driving late model cars. There was a woman in a sedan following them. They wanted to sell cars, and everything seemed to be legitimate. I got all three pink slips and looked over the vehicles, then made them an offer. They didn't try to dicker with me, just accepted what I offered. We filled out the paperwork and I sent Susie, my receptionist, to the bank to get the cash. They seemed like they were in a hurry, so we settled up, they signed the pinks, and all three piled into the sedan. That's all I know."

"What were the names on the pink slips, Campbell?" Gilmore questioned.

"The officer that was in here took 'em, but I do remember one, cause it was easy . . . Singer."

Stu got up and left the room. When he came back he had the pink slips with him, and he handed them to Gil. "Booth and Dial," Gilmore read out loud. He glanced at Stu, and Stu nodded agreement.

"That's them."

"Did they give you an address, Campbell?"

"Yeah, but I knew it was bogus. They told me they had several more vehicles to sell, and I didn't have the cash to buy anymore. So I sent 'em to my cousin Charlie's place. Charlie's Fine Used Cars, over on 12th and Romance Streets. He's always got more cash than me."

"Let's go, Stu." Gil was up and out of his seat in an instant, with Bailey right behind him.

Cousin Charlie was a carbon copy of Dave, and he proved even more helpful. "I bought two cars off of 'em and they left in a cab."

"Did you happen to overhear where they wanted to go?" Stu asked.

"Listen, do I look like the nosy type?" When no one answered, Charlie continued. "I heard 'em tell the cabbie to take 'em to 49th Street, right at the pier."

No more questions were necessary. Gil put the siren on and they were at 49th street in a matter of minutes. Another round of questions, but this time the answers they wanted.

"Yeah, they left here about noon yesterday. Headed off towards Baja California. You need the boat registration?"

"Yes," replied Gil.

"Most definitely," came from Stu.

The dock master looked through his paperwork for five, almost ten minutes. It was the longest ten minutes of Stu Bailey's life. "Ah, here it is!"

The Smiling Lady, number N4159759, registered owner Roberta Tate. "Maiden name of Singer's wife," Gil mused out loud. "How far do you suppose they could've gotten by now?" he asked the dock master.

"Well, they had a pretty bad storm to get through, the way they were goin'. I'd say they couldn't of gotten much past Ensenada."

"Do you have a phone we can use?" Stu queried.

"Sure right here. Coast Guard's number is G7239."

"Good guess," Stu remarked as he handed the phone to Gil.

"Yes, this is Lieutenant Gilmore of the North Hollywood Police Department. I need you to track down a boat, The Smiling Lady, registration number N4129759, registered owner Roberta Tate. There should be six or seven people on board, and we believe they're armed and dangerous. They could possibly have a hostage, Jeff Spencer. They'll be somewhere in the Ensenada vicinity. Yes, I will wait at this number for your return call. That's D4687." Pause. "Thank you."

Gilmore turned to Stu. "Nothing to do but wait."

XXXXXXXX

It was almost three hours later before the call came through. Stu walked the dock so many times he couldn't count. The longer he waited the more his stomach tied itself up in knots. He tried to keep his mind blank, not wanting to think about the possible outcomes. They were so close, surely everything would turn out all right now. Every time the phone rang he just about crawled out of his skin, and every time it was a call for the dockmaster, he started breathing again. Then, at last, the dockmaster handed the receiver to Gil.

"Gilmore speaking. Yes. Yes. Forty miles past Ensenada? I see. I see. And what about . . . no, I understand. I'm sure you did. Let me know . . . yes, yes of course. Thank you, Captain."

Gil didn't have to say anything, the look on his face took care of that. He said it out loud, anyway, after he'd turned towards Stuart. "The Smiling Lady ran when the Coast Guard approached. When it became apparent she'd be overtaken, someone on the boat began shooting. The Guard did everything in their power not to return fire, but two of the Captain's men were wounded. They exchanged volleys for several minutes before a bullet hit the motor and The Lady exploded. No one could have survived the explosion, Stu, but they're looking through the wreckage and counting bodies. Stu, did you hear me?"

Bailey nodded and walked to the far end of the dock. He was numb and knew when the shock wore off it wouldn't be a pretty sight. He had no desire for Gil to see his reaction. Jeff was gone, and his life would never be the same again.


	12. Chapter 12

The 9 to 5 Caper

Chapter 12

There were a million things that ran through Stu's mind as he walked back to the squad car, but the predominant one was the very first thought he'd had when Gil gave him the news . . . Jeff was gone. Somehow his intellect wouldn't allow him to use the unspoken word . . . dead. There, he'd said it. Dead. Only he hadn't said it; at least not out loud. He was too numb to say it. Right now he was too numb to say anything.

Once Gil saw Stu head for the squad car, he got in and started the engine. Even for a hardened police officer the look on Stu's face was too much for any man to bear. Especially Lieutenant Roy Gilmore. He heard the car door open and felt Stu slide into the front seat. "You're going back to Hollywood with me, Stuart?" There was no answer, so when he got the chance Gil pulled out into traffic. He'd driven away from hundreds of crime scenes, but none of them had affected him like this.

There was no talking on the ride home. There was nothing that could be said to ease one man's pain. And the other man in the car jut drove and wondered what the man sitting beside him would do now. Whatever it was, Gil was glad it wasn't him that had to make the decisions.

Once again the two men saw the sun come up over the San Jacinto Mountains; one was exhausted and the other traumatized. As they approached the off-ramp of the 5 freeway, Gil asked a question. "Home or the office, Stu?" It was almost five minutes before Stu answered., and then it was only one word.

"Office."

The Lieutenant didn't think the office was the best place for the fragile man sitting next to him, but Stu had made a decision and it wasn't Gilmore's place to override it. At least Stu would have some privacy at the office, and eventually there would be friends there with him.

The moment Gil pulled up Stu was out of the car and in the back door. The Lieutenant turned around in the near-empty parking lot and headed for the precinct. He wasn't looking forward to what he had to do when he got to the office, but it was a damn sight better than the tasks that lay ahead of Bailey.

The back door emptied into a small hallway and then directly into Stu's office. Home; his second home, a safe haven from the grim reality he faced. He got to his desk, then his chair, and crumpled into it. Showing no trace of what he was feeling was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. Correct that; it was the second hardest. The hardest was still ahead of him.

He folded his arms on his desk and rested his head on those same arms. It had been more than thirty-six hours since he'd had any sleep and, much as he wanted some now, sleep wouldn't come. Perhaps Morpheus knew how fervently he prayed that this was all a bad dream; a very bad dream. He sat in his chair for some ungodly length of time, neither sleeping nor waking, waiting for something to happen. It finally dawned on him that in order for something to happen, he had to make it happen. Taking a deep breath he rose from his chair and looked around the room. His eyes stopped when he got to the door that separated . . . his and Jeff's offices.

Everything looked the same as it had when he got Gil's phone call yesterday morning. It looked the same but it certainly wasn't the same. His life and everything he held dear had been turned upside down, and there was no way to fix it ever again. He found himself at the door to Jeff's office; he leaned into the door frame and allowed it to support him, as if it had a choice. Unfailingly polite, educated, linguistics expert, suave and charming, so exceedingly good-looking women couldn't help but fall for him . . . Stuart Bailey would trade every single quality attributed to him just to see that smiling face sitting at the desk.

He was aware of the affection he had for his partner; he'd always wanted a brother and he'd found one in Jeff. Boyishly handsome, eager to help everyone with a problem, and a smile that displayed itself with the slightest provocation. Everybody loved Jeff. Everybody . . . loved . . . Stu choked back a sob. Nothing could fix this; he'd lost his best friend.

He didn't know how he got there, but he found himself sitting at Jeff's desk. It had always been Jeff's desk, with the furniture angled just so that, when the door between them was open, they could see each other without getting up. All the times they discussed a client, or a case, or something Gil brought them, with that door open. And now, to know that the little trickster he'd gone into business with wouldn't be there when he glanced across the room. His heart was aching and he didn't know what to do about it. Slowly he felt the tears on his face and reached for his handkerchief, then took a cigarette from Jeff's case and lit it with the lighter on the desk. It had been a birthday present to Spencer from the four of them; Suzanne, Kookie, him and Roscoe. They'd intended to have it engraved, but the jeweler couldn't get it finished in time. Jeff just laughed about it. "I know who it's from. It doesn't need to be engraved."

Stu's mind wandered in another direction. Jeff had a brother, a real brother, a sister and a mother out in the world. Stu knew who they were, of course, and where they were, but he didn't know any of them as well as he should have. Telling Jeff's mother was going to be the hardest. She'd wanted her boy, her Jefferson, to be an attorney – a nice safe profession. Only problem was, Jeff had decided after he came back from Korea he didn't want to be an attorney. Now Mrs. Spencer didn't have anyone but Stu to point her finger at and say, "I told you so."

And Suzanne. How could he tell Suzanne? Stu had wondered about those two . . . oh, not if there was anything going on, because he knew there wasn't. But could there have been? They were always somewhat flirty with each other, more so than normal for Jeff. The way he looked at her . . . now they'd never have a chance to find out. Opportunities missed.

Kookie would miss him, too. Closer in age to Jeff than Stu, he was Jeff's hip-hop brother. Jeff always seemed to know what Kookie was talking about, even when Stu got lost in the jargon. Now there was no one to interpret; no one to understand.

Then there was Roscoe. Jeff loved to go to the track with Roscoe, especially if it was a Sunday afternoon. Spencer could always charm their way into the Club House just by flashing that boyish smile. And when they were at Santa Anita, Roscoe thought he'd died and gone to heaven. All the waitresses knew him by name, and he always gave the credit to Jeff.

And last but not least, himself. Stuart Bailey would miss him most of all. Partner, brother, best friend. They did so much together, and knew each other so well. If one of them needed a shoulder to cry on, the other one was there. If Jeff had something he was excited about, Stu was the first one he told. When Stuart discovered something interesting, it was Jeff he shared it with. They smoked the same cigarettes, drank the same drinks, dated the same girls. Well, most of the same girls. Stu could be stoic sometimes, pessimistic on occasion. Being around Jeff was like watching the sun come up. Always the optimist, yin to Stu's yang. They fit together . . . perfectly.

Stuart reached for another cigarette and realized his hands were shaking. He picked up the lighter, staring at it now, and without using it on his cigarette threw the lighter against the wall. He knew he'd broken it when he heard a 'clank' followed by a 'thud.' He put his head down on Jeff's desk and wept for what he'd lost.


	13. Chapter 13

The 9 to 5 Caper

Chapter 13

It was almost nine o'clock when Suzanne got to the office. She greeted Kookie in the parking lot with a cheery "Good morning" and stopped to talk for a few minutes before going inside. Stu's car was in the parking lot, so she assumed he was still with Lieutenant Gilmore. She was sorting out phone messages when Kookie came into the reception area with coffee. Roscoe was right behind him.

"Aren't you sweet?" Suzanne asked as Kookie handed her the coffee.

"Somebody's got to take up the slack. Your secret admirer isn't here to do it." The hipster nodded his head toward Jeff's office. The doors were closed to both Spencer's and Bailey's offices.

"Anybody know how Stu and Jeff are doing?" Roscoe asked.

"Haven't heard a word, dad," Kookie replied. He was just about to head for the parking lot when Stu's door suddenly opened. All three turned to say "Good morning," but the greeting died on their lips when they saw him. His clothes looked like they'd been slept in and his eyes were red. Dry, but red.

"Stuart, are you alright?" Suzanne asked.

Stu didn't answer. Instead, he told Suzanne, "Put the board on hold and come in." Roscoe tried to tiptoe out the front door. "You too, Roscoe."

Stu was sitting behind his desk when the three made their way in. The connecting door to Jeff's office was closed. Suzanne sat on the couch; Kookie the couch's arm. Roscoe stood. They all waited for Stu to begin but he acted like that was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. After some five minutes Kookie spoke up. "Don't keep us in suspense, dad. Spit it out."

Stuart cleared his throat before he began telling them the words he didn't want to say. Bailey was sotto voice and his eyes remained downcast. "The night before last, I got a call around three a.m. It was from Gil, telling me he had a lead on Jeff's whereabouts and he was coming over to pick me up. We drove to San Diego and questioned two used car salesmen and a dock master. Based on the information we got, Gil phoned the Coast Guard and asked them to pick up a boat, The Smiling Lady. He informed The Guard that the boat's occupants were assumed to be armed and dangerous. The passenger list consisted of Jim and Cathy Dial, Rudy and Bobbie Singer, Fred Booth and Bernadette Shafer, and Jeff Spencer.

"The Lady refused to surrender and made a run for it. Someone on the cabin cruiser fired at The Guard, and after two of the Guardsmen were shot, they returned fire." Stu paused, almost as if gathering his strength. He looked up finally and finished his story. "A bullet from The Coast Guard vessel hit the cabin cruiser motor and the boat exploded. They're still searching for the bodies."

Suzanne gasped. She didn't need to hear the rest of the story to envision the outcome. It was Kookie that made Stu say it out loud. "Are you telling us Jeff was on the boat when it blew up?"

Stu nodded, then gave Kookie the answer none of them wanted to hear. "Yes. He was on the boat when it blew up. Jeff Spencer is dead."

Suzanne lurched to her feet and Stu feared she would faint. He was out of his chair and there to catch her when she did. Roscoe collapsed into the nearest chair and Kookie bolted from the room. Stu laid Suzanne on the couch and got her a glass of water; when she came to he made sure she drank some of it. "No, Stuart, no," Suzanne kept repeating over and over as she sat up. Stu was on the couch beside her and took her in his arms, doing his best to comfort her. It did no good.

Kookie had returned and stood in the doorway. "Are you sure?"

Stu turned his head slightly in Kookie's direction. "Have they recovered the bodies? No. Am I sure he's gone? Yes, Kookie. He was seen getting on the boat with the other passengers. Nobody could have survived that explosion."

"Do you want some help calling his family? I know his sister and brother pretty well."

Stu nodded. "That would be a big help. Let's wait until we hear from Gil." He turned to Suzanne and handed her his handkerchief. "Better?"

"No." She blew her nose. "What was he doing with them? Did they know he was a P.I.?"

"He was trying to catch them, Suzanne. They must have known. The dock master said it looked like Jeff's presence wasn't voluntary."

"Oh, Stuart, what are we going to do without him?"

"I don't know, honey. I don't know."

XXXXXXXX

It was almost noon before the phone rang. Stu had his office door closed; even though he wouldn't let anyone else know it, he couldn't function properly. Roscoe had volunteered to answer the switchboard; Suzanne was still too upset. The intercom buzzed. Roscoe's voice sounded like he was feeling the effects of losing Jeff, too. "Stu, Gilmore's on line two."

"Thanks, Roscoe." Stu cleared his throat before he answered the phone and tried to make his voice sound normal. "What have you heard, Gil? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. I figured they couldn't do their work that fast. Alright, keep me informed." He hung up and wondered if there was any hidden meaning to Gil's phone call.

So far the Coroner had identified two people – Jim Dial and Bobbie Singer. That was both good and bad. Good because Jeff wasn't one of them, and bad because Stu was living in hell while he waited for the inevitable answer. A soft knock on the door brought him out of his reverie. "It's Suzanne. May I come in?"

Stu got up and opened the door. "Of course, Suzanne. How are you doing?"

"That's what I came to ask you."

He ushered her into the office and closed the door behind her. "I'm fine."

"Stuart, don't lie to me." He'd never seen her look so sad. "I know how much you loved him."

Stu couldn't deny it. "He was the brother I never had." He put his arms around her and hugged her, and she hugged him back, fiercely. "It seems we've both lost someone significant to us."

"I never . . . " he felt her shoulders shake, then her whole body, and she cried quiet tears. When the crying stopped she finished her sentence. "I never got the chance to tell him how important he was to me."

"You didn't have to tell him, Suzanne. He knew. And I have to believe he knew how I felt, too."

She finally pulled back and their eyes met. "He did, Stuart. He was so proud that someone as cultured and educated as you wanted to go into business with him."

Stuart couldn't suppress the chuckle. "I was the lucky one, Suzanne. He brought a lot of fun into my dull life."

XXXXXXXX

By quitting time the Coroner had identified another body . . . Bernadette Schafer. In Gil's opinion it would be the next morning at the earliest before they'd verified who all seven were. Stu took Suzanne and Roscoe over to Dino's; Kookie intended to join them as soon as his replacement got there. It seemed odd to be sitting in the unofficial Bailey and Spencer booth without Spencer, but a lot of things were going to seem odd without Jeff.

As soon as Kookie joined them Stu ordered a round of Vodka Gimlet's, and when they'd arrived and the waiter had left the table, Stuart raised his glass in a toast. They all followed suit. "To the best partner a man could hope to have. To Jeff."


	14. Chapter 14

The 9 to 5 Caper

Chapter 14

He had no idea how long he'd been lying there; he only knew that he was out of the water and on dry land, at last. His lungs felt like they were filled with the ocean and his arms couldn't have swum another stroke, even if his life depended on it. And it had.

Every inch of him was sopping wet and a chill had set in the air. He was as cold as he'd ever been in his life, and hungrier than he could remember. He knew he didn't have the strength to stand up and walk anywhere, much less towards the road, so he just stayed on the beach and finally fell asleep. He woke up shivering, but he was alive.

He couldn't believe that he'd talked Fred and Cathy into letting him go. Of course they weren't taking a big risk by betting he'd never make it to shore, and if he hadn't spent the last several weeks loading boxes on a truck he probably wouldn't have. He remembered complaining about all the manual labor he was performing, but it was the manual labor that saved his life. He'd always been a good swimmer . . . right now he was an excellent swimmer. And that had proven to be the difference between drowning in the ocean and making it to dry land.

Finally he felt like he might be strong enough to walk – but first he had to stand. He got to his knees and was afraid he couldn't make it any further. He stayed like that for a good ten minutes, shivering and shaking, until he found the strength to get his legs under him and stand up. Then all he had to do was walk to the road and try to hitch a ride. Right, all he had to do. At least his mind was beginning to work. Surely Stu would be making every effort to find him. If he could just get to a telephone. And get somebody to give him a dime.

Who was he kidding? The way he looked he'd be lucky if a trucker would pick him up, much less feed him and give him money. He lurched and staggered like a drunk, practically willing himself to stay on his feet. He didn't know how far the road was, but he was beginning to hear the roar diesel trucks made as they did their best to make good time and not get caught speeding. He concentrated on staying upright and making forward progress, and was rewarded with the feel of the sun on his back. That would help his most immediate problems, the wetness and the cold he was feeling. He'd give almost anything right now for a long drink of any kind of water that didn't taste like ocean.

He stumbled on and was rewarded for his persistence with a view of the road. It looked like it was two or three miles away; an almost impossible distance for a man in his condition. He wasn't about to quit now though, he'd come too far to give up. He had to sit down for a few minutes, just to catch his breath, and then he would continue on.

He didn't remember lying down; he barely remembered sitting down. And he certainly didn't remember falling asleep, but it was obvious he had done just that. From the position of the sun it appeared to be late afternoon and he knew if he had any hope of making it to the road before dark he had to go now. He pulled himself up carefully and took one step before finding himself face down in the dirt. His ankle had given way, and he didn't know if he was going to be able to walk on it or not. For just a moment he wondered what it was that made him think he had a better chance of staying alive if he convinced Cathy and Fred to let him go once it got dark and most everyone was asleep. "Survival, boy, survival. That's exactly what it was, the instinct to survive," he said out loud. There would have been no survival if he stayed with the boat; Jim fully intended to shoot him and dump his body overboard, whether the others agreed or not. At least this way he had a chance.

He tried standing again. This time the ankle held and he started towards the road. He took it slow and careful; he still wasn't sure if the ankle would continue to support him or not. He reached in his pants pocket to see if by chance there was any change there and realized his clothes were dry. "Things are looking up," he said to no one in particular as he walked.

By the time he reached the dusty road the sun was just beginning to go down. He stood on the side of the road and waited for a truck heading north, preferably; at this point he didn't much care which way it went and would take anything that came along. Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty, before he saw headlights going either way. These were headed north, and he stuck out his thumb and prayed. No such luck; the driver went sailing by, not even attempting to slow down. Another fifteen minutes and a truck headed south this time. He hobbled across the road and stuck out his thumb, praying to God that somebody would stop. No luck going south, either. It was almost an hour before another set of headlights appeared, again going north, and he was afraid the results would be the same. "I wouldn't pick me up, either," he said out loud, but this time he was in luck.

The truck slowed down, then stopped and the man behind the wheel rolled his window down. "What are you doin' out here in the dark?" The driver asked.

"Trying to get out of here," came the reply.

"Well, son, I can't leave you out here in the dark. You might never get picked up." The passenger side door to the truck cab swung open, and the weary traveler climbed in. "Where you headed?" the driver asked.

"Anywhere you're going. You wouldn't have any water, would you? I haven't had a drink since yesterday."

"Yeah, look in the black satchel behind your seat. Should be some water in there. Food, too, if'n you're hungry. From the looks of you I'd guess the answer is yes. It's just baloney sandwiches, but there's plenty of 'em."

"Mr. . . ?"

"Emerson. Johnny Emerson."

"Mr. Emerson, I can't thank you enough. You might have just saved my life."

"Son, that's way too formal. Call me Johnny."

"Johnny, I'm glad to meet you. And I thank you kindly for the food and water. I'll get you paid back, I swear."

"I believe you. In the meantime, what do I call you?"

He swallowed and looked this unknown savior in the eyes. "Spencer's the name, Johnny. Jeff Spencer."

XXXXXXXX

It had been three days and the Coroner couldn't identify any more of the people on board The Smiling Lady. They'd found enough to identify Jim and Cathy Dial, Bobbie Singer and Bernadette Schafer. They were still missing Rudy Singer, Fred Booth, and Jeff. And Stu Bailey was still living on pins and needles.

He sat in his office all day with the door closed and did nothing but brood. He wouldn't take phone calls; he wouldn't make phone calls. If any of Jeff's clients came in, Kookie handled them. Stu simply wasn't capable. He didn't eat lunch and Suzanne was positive he wasn't eating breakfast or dinner, either. He answered when spoken to, but he started no conversations. He didn't laugh or smile, he simply looked stoic . . . constantly. The second day this went on Suzanne followed him when he left the office. He went straight to Dino's and sat in the back booth. He's just ordered a scotch on the rocks when Suzanne slid into the booth. He didn't look surprised to see her.

"Did Mother come to check up on me?" he asked without a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

"Call me anything you'd like, Stuart, but we both know it can't go on like this."

There was a pause while the waiter brought over the scotch. "Do you want anything, Suzanne?"

"Yes, but I can't have it, so no, thank you."

Once they were alone again, Stu gave her the answer to her unspoken question. "How am I supposed to act? My brother's gone. I can't get used to it and I can't get over it in a day or two. Quit worrying about me. I'll survive."

"When was the last time you ate something?"

"I ate . . . " Stuart looked for all the world like he was trying to remember. "I don't know when I ate. Or what, for that matter."

Suzanne signaled the waiter over. "Bring Mr. Bailey a New York Strip Steak, medium-rare, and a chef's salad with dressing on the side. Nothing else. And I'll have the baked potato and vegetables he isn't eating. Please."

"Steak and salad?" He questioned.

"Protein and greens. And you will eat as much of it as you can. I will not attend two funerals, Mr. Bailey."

Stuart looked resigned. "Yes, Miss Fabry."


	15. Chapter 15

The 9 to 5 Caper

Chapter 15

They drove on through the night, with Jeff explaining to Johnny what he was doing in Baja California and how he got there. When he got to the part about Cathy and Fred letting him 'escape' into the Pacific, Johnny stopped him. "Was the name of the boat Smilin' Lady?"

"Yes, it was," Jeff replied, figuring the only way Johnny would know the boat was if something had happened to her. Unfortunately, he was right.

"How long's it been since you heard any news?"

"Three, four, five days," came the swift answer. "I'm not really sure. What have I missed?"

"Be glad you had to swim for your life, son. That boat you was on blew up with everybody on board. There ain't nothin' left of her but little bitty pieces. Hope you didn't have any friends on her."

"Dear God. Everybody's gone?"

Jeff could see the truck drivers head bob up and down. "All of 'em. Including you, by the way."

"Me? But they won't find my body . . . er, anything to identify me by."

"That's just the thing. They could only figure out who four of 'em were. They think the rest was lost to the ocean, or sharks. You're dead."

"And . . . everybody believes I'm gone." That explained why there was nobody out scouring Baja California for him.

His first thought was of Stuart, his brother, his friend, his partner in almost everything imaginable. He had visions of Stu sitting alone in his office, brooding, drinking and grieving in his own way. And Suzanne, poor Suzanne, he could just imagine how she felt. He was worried about Kookie and Roscoe, of course, but Suzanne and Stuart were the two he was most concerned about. He'd intended to borrow a dime from Johnny and call them as soon as he got across the border, but that was out of the question now. He had to be there, to go to them, to let them touch him and laugh with him and know he was alive.

"Yep. It was front-page news for a couple days. '_Seven people perish in boat explosion_.' Say, how'd you get from the boat to Baja?"

"I swam, Johnny. I swam more than I've ever done in my life. And when I hit the shore I was wet, cold, hungry and tired. Couldn't do anything about the first three, so I fell asleep. And when I woke up and stopped shaking from cold, I walked to where you picked me up."

"Good grief, Jeff, that's more than five miles. With just those clothes on? And sopping wet to boot? What are you? Some relation of Superman?"

"No, Johnny, just a lucky man." He thought about those weeks of loading boxes full of paper and thanked God that Stu had preferred playing auditor.

Johnny convinced the border guards that Jeff was his substitute driver and his identification had been lost when someone stole his jacket in Ensenada. As soon as they were back in the United States they began looking for gas stations that sold diesel. They were in luck – they found a truck stop that had gasoline, diesel and a diner. And it was just across the border.

"You ready for some real food?" Johnny asked as they walked to the diner.

"You mean something besides baloney sandwiches? I'll eat anything," Jeff replied. "Have you been here before?"

Jeff hadn't realized what a big man John Emerson was until they were both out of the truck. Jeff was tall, 6' 2" at least, and Johnny towered over him. He was a big man, too, not fat, just big, like Jeff remembered his dad. It felt good to be walking in with him; Jeff felt protected. It was a nice feeling after what he'd been through.

"Many times, but I'm always surprised when I see it again. They make the greatest breakfast on the planet. Scrambled eggs mixed with hash browns and sausage, then baked with cheese on the top. And biscuits, like your mama used to make. And I bet you could use some coffee. I got a thermos we can get filled to take with us. How do you drink your coffee, Jeff?"

"Black."

"Good man. That's the way to drink coffee."

"That's the way my father drank it."

"Let's see what we can do about eating something besides baloney."

A little over an hour later the two men made it back to the truck. Once they had her started, Johnny called out "Next stop, Hollywood!"

XXXXXXXX

It was twenty past two when Stu and then Suzanne came back from Dino's. Suzanne had ordered Dino's special chicken salad with dressing on the side, and a double order of garlic toast. Stu ordered a scotch. When the food came Suzanne asked for an extra plate and took almost half of the salad. The rest she put in front of Stu.

"Have you taken over the care and feeding of Stuart Bailey, Private Investigator, mademoiselle?"

Suzanne nodded as she ate a bite of salad. "Someone has to." She picked up his fork and handed it to him.

"I'd rather have this," Stuart explained as he raised his glass to catch the waiter's attention. "It numbs the pain."

"I lost him too, Stuart, but I'm not drinking my meals and hiding behind closed doors."

"I'm not hiding, Suzanne. I'm simply . . . brooding." She took the glass from his hands and tried handing him the fork again. This time he took it and stabbed a piece of chicken. "Et tu, Brute?"

Suzanne tried hard not to laugh. True, he was still sitting quietly in his office all day, doing nothing, but every once in a while he sounded like the old Stuart. Maybe he would get through this after all. He ate the chicken, and a bite of salad, then returned to his glass of scotch.

"Stuart, what are we . . . "

He turned almost ferocious; his eyes dark and unwelcoming. "Don't ask it, Suzanne."

"But you don't know . . . "

He glared at her then, outright glared at her. "Any sentence that starts like that, I don't want to hear. Do you understand?"

'_Bad timing_,' she thought. Maybe if she waited a while before she brought it up.

When they finished their lunch, Stu grabbed her by the elbow and walked her outside. "I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to think about it. Not now. Not ever."

Stuart let go of Suzanne and walked back into 77 Sunset Strip. He left her standing in the parking lot, all by herself.


	16. Chapter 16

The 9 to 5 Caper

Chapter 16

Suzanne passed the word, Mr. John Emerson had made an appointment with Stu for three o'clock and asked that Kookie and Roscoe be there. Stu did more than a little fussing at first, until Suzanne repeated just what Mr. Emerson said. "Tell Mr. Bailey that his being there is a matter of life or death. His."

"Alright, alright, I'll be in my office. You can buzz me when the mysterious Mr. Emerson arrives."

Kookie found someone to sub for him as the parking attendant and when he got to the offices he found Roscoe already there. "Curiosity's got me too, Kookie. "

No one dared try to get Stu to come out of his office before it was time to buzz him. So he didn't get to see what Suzanne, Kookie and Roscoe saw walk in the front door to 77 Sunset Strip at five minutes of the hour. He was dirty, he was ragged looking, he desperately needed a shave, but he was home. Kookie let out a yell and ran to embrace him, Roscoe followed suit. Suzanne began screaming and couldn't stop. She put the switchboard on hold and ran to a very much alive Jeff Spencer and threw her arms around his neck, kissing every square inch of his face. It didn't take long before a disgruntled looking Stuart Bailey came charging out of his office. "What's all the racket out here? I can't think it's so . . ."

What he saw stopped him in his tracks. And then he ran towards the man standing in front of him and they all got out of his way. Stu threw his arms around his partner and held him tight, and they saw the kiss Stu planted on Jeff's cheek. Then he buried his face in the taller man's shoulder and Jeff felt the sob that escaped from Stuart. "I don't know how and I don't care. You're alive!" And then, as if to recover some of his dignity, he pulled back from Jeff while still holding on to his shoulders. Stu made a face and wrinkled up his nose before saying, "But you do need a bath."

Jeff burst out laughing as Stu let go of him with one hand. Suzanne, Kookie and Roscoe joined the circle of friends that quickly turned into a giant hug. There was indistinguishable chatter that didn't stop for almost ten minutes before Stu pulled him away and into Bailey's office. The door was closed and the embrace resumed, and this time Stuart didn't try to hide the joy he felt at seeing Jeff alive. When they pulled apart there was a tear running down Stuart's face. "We thought you were dead . . . no, wait, we knew you were dead. How are you standing here now?"

Stu let go of his very much alive partner and both men sat on the couch. "It was simple . . . I wasn't on the boat when it exploded. Stu, look, I know you want to hear the whole story, and I'll tell it to everyone over at Dino's when we crack the champagne. But I have to go home and take the longest shower of my life first."

"I'm going with you. I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm sure you're real."

Jeff grinned. It was a hell of a welcome home, but he had something for them to do first. "You have to come out to the parking lot and meet John Emerson. Yes, there's a real John Emerson, and he's the only reason I'm here now. Come with me." They went out the back door and found a very big man waiting for them. As they walked up to him Stu couldn't help but notice what Jeff had seen earlier.

"He looks like your dad."

"Doesn't he, though." When they got within earshot, Jeff made the introductions. "John Emerson, this is Stuart Bailey, my partner; my brother. Stuart, this is Johnny Emerson. He saved my life."

They shook hands, warmly, "If you ever need anything, Mr. Emerson, ANYTHING, you call me and I'll get it taken care of for you."

"Thank you, Mr. Bailey. You've got a hell of a partner here."

"And believe me, I know it." Stu wrapped his arm around Jeff's neck and pulled the taller man down. "I wouldn't want to work with anyone else. Or play with anyone else. Thanks again for whatever part you played in bringing him home."

Johnny looked at Jeff quizzically before saying, "You haven't told him yet?"

Jeff shook his head. "No. I want to go home and take the longest shower known to man, shave and put on clean clothes. Then I'll tell everyone over at Dino's. Johnny, I wish you'd stay and join us."

"We'd love to have you stay."

Johnny shook his head. "I'd love to, boys, but I'm gonna have to say no. I've gotta drive that truck on up to Sacramento and deliver my cargo. Jeff, I've got your phone number. I'll give you a call when I get back and we can get together for a drink."

"It sounds good, Johnny. I can't thank you enough . . . " Jeff had to stop and gather himself together before he could go on. "You saved my life. I'll never forget that." Jeff looked around before asking, "Speaking of trucks, where is yours?"

"Right around the corner on the other side of Dino's. Don't forget now, a drink at Dino's when I come back."

The mood got very serious as Jeff told Johnny, "I could never forget. Just be sure you don't." A hug finished off the good-byes, while Stu and then Jeff watched the trucker walk away. "If I live to be a thousand I can never repay that man."

"Nor can I," Stu added in all seriousness.

The partners walked back inside and told everyone to be at Dino's for a private celebration at six o'clock. "Suzanne, call Dino's and tell them we want the whole back room, with champagne and drinks for all five of us. And this half of Bailey and Spencer is picking up the tab. _'Bring the fatted calf and kill it. Let us feast and celebrate. For this brother of mine was dead and is alive again! He was lost and is found!'"_

Roscoe just looked up and said, "Huh?"

"It's from the Bible, Roscoe. Luke 15:23-24. With a slight alteration," Stu explained.

"Stuart, you'll have to drive. I left everything behind on the boat, and some poor shark is attempting to feast on it now. Good thing you've got a key to my place."

"Amen," Roscoe threw in. "That's the only religious talk I know."

Everyone laughed at Roscoe, and Stu and his long-lost partner headed for Jeff's car, which Kookie had already pulled up in front. "Filled with gas and ready to roll," Kookie announced, and as soon as Stu was behind the wheel they pulled out into traffic on Sunset Blvd.

"I missed this," Jeff announced as they drove down the street.

"What?"

"The noise, the traffic, the horns, the sirens. Oh God, the sirens. We forgot. . . "

"Gi!" both men cried at the same time.

"You know, I think he'll understand. This is for family; our family. But I will call him while you get some of that smell off of you."

"You didn't mind that smell so much when you first saw me, Bailey."

"That was thirty minutes ago. Now, I mind it."

Jeff laughed that all's-right-with-the-world laugh he had, and for just a moment, it was.

The End


End file.
